


The Night he came

by Miss_Wallace



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Coming Back, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 14:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1391107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Wallace/pseuds/Miss_Wallace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after Sherlock's death, at St Bart's hospital, John decides to go and see Mrs Hudson, who forces him to stay at Baker Street. For night is dark and mysterious, John did not know what would happen during the following night...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back to Baker Street

Two years now and John, without forgetting what had happened at Saint Bart’s Hospital, had moved on with his life. The routine of going to work, as a normal person, of having lunch with his colleagues, like a normal person, of getting back home, as a normal person. All he wanted, from now on, was to be like the others.

One night, on his way back home, after a very long evening at the hospital where he works now, he found himself wandering in the street, exhausted. He had to help a man who tried to kill himself by jumping off a window. It hurt him so much that he had to force him not to send the patient to another doctor. Sherlock… He thought. The past two years had been an awful mourning time for him and he was just emerging when this man came. While thinking about the tragic suicide of his friend, his best friend, he found himself near Baker Street. “How did I come here?” The red bricked house was still standing, at 221 B. There was a little light upstairs, through a window and John walked to the door. He hesitated and knocked, then came in.  
\- How? B-but… Why didn’t you call? John, two years! I was worried about you, I thought you could be dead too by the time. Oh come here, dear. You’re a mess. Let me make you a nice cup of tea!  
Before he had the time to say anything, John was sitting on his big armchair, in the dusty living room of his former house. “He never let me clean it, you know” Mrs. Hudson said while pouring the tea and the milk. John sighed and looked at his landlady.  
\- I’m..hem.. sorry I didn’t call.  
\- That is fine. But look at yourself! You look like you’ve seen a ghost!  
\- If only, Mrs Hudson… If only…  
\- You should probably stay here tonight John.  
\- No, really, that’s kind of you but-  
\- Sshh, my dear. You look tired, depressed and gloomy. Be my guest. Just like in the old days!  
She smiled at him and he thought it wouldn’t be convenient to leave now. She looked so happy and relieved to see that he hasn’t shot himself or left the country. His bedroom had been left untouched so it was a bit dusty too. John thanked Mrs. Hudson and said goodnight, then he closed the door, opened the window to take a deep breath. When he went to bed, with all his clothes on, he fell in a deep, innocent sleep.


	2. When the moon rises

The moon was rising up in the dark sky, changing the street into a nightmarish scenery. Black was the bedroom of John. Everything was just silence and sleep when a shadow crept into the street, floating cautiously above the sidewalk. It was one of these night when the city seemed uninhabited. Nobody would risk themselves outside for it was cold and pitch-black. It is the night of robberies, murders and swift violence. The pale shadow kept moving forward, determined to be as quick and silent as possible. He was slipping through London, the good old London he knew so well. He stopped near a park to catch his breath and a livid smoke flew in the air.  
The tall shadow adjusted the collar of his black coat and the moon lit up his face for a second. The moon revealed a long neck covered by a blue scarf, a sharp chin, long thin nose and high cheekbones. It was as if his face had been cut out with a knife. Sherlock frowned as he started walking again in the alley, crossing the road. He found himself in Baker Street and walked to number 221B. He faced the black door and had a moment of hesitation. Knock? Slip into the house? The shadow chose the second option and sneaked into the exiguous staircase. All was silent but the ticking noise of Mrs. Hudson’s alarm clock. He used to think, at night, while listening to this little sound. The shadow moved to the living room, closing cautiously the door behind him. Nothing had changed, his furniture was still there, the two armchairs – John’s and his – and there was dust all around, floating in the air and covering the mantelpiece of the chimney. He did not touch anything for he wanted to be discreet.  
He walked into John’s bedroom and locked the door. His friend was sleeping peacefully, all dressed up, the blanket half covering his face. Sherlock smirked: a moustache, really? He would have to get rid of that as soon as possible. He could not be seen with a mustached John. As he stepped forward, beside John’s bed, he stopped. His friend had moved. A very slight movement. He opened his eyes as Sherlock’s shadow was back in a dark angle of the room. John didn’t see the movement in his bedroom for he was sleepy and still in shock after the new nightmare he had just had. He blinked twice and got up. He was thirsty. When he reached the door, a hand grabbed his arm. He did not scream, he did not say a word. But he expressed mixed feelings on his face. Fear. Anger. Sadness. Incomprehension. Then he punched Sherlock in the face. His fist was burning him but he kept punching him with all his strength. He stopped when blood was covering his hand.  
\- Are you going to punch me over and over until your arm weakens?

As an answer, John strongly hit Sherlock in the stomach and then suddenly hugged him.


	3. Old feelings. New feelings.

When Sherlock pressed his nose against John’s neck, in the little hole behind his left ear, he smelt the familiar scent of soap and after shave he could never forget while being away from London. This was his drug, the very reason why he had to smoke. He had to keep himself away from that scent; otherwise it would have driven him mad. His guilty pleasure always had been to go shower after John so he could still smell his fragrance in the confined room.  
It recalled too many feelings for Sherlock that, for a moment, he was not able to think anymore. Baker Street. Baskerville. The blind banker case. The images of all those situations overwhelmed him. He remembered, through this smell, the day he met John, at his laboratory. From that moment on, he knew John was somebody special. He felt the same when they started living together. Home. Baker Street had become Sherlock’s home. Oh surely Mrs. Hudson was a very nice lady, and there was nothing he would not do to help her. But with John in the house, everything had changed. First of all, new stuff. New smell in the bathroom. New noises during the night. Even if he tried so hard to live has he used to do, Sherlock had to replace his habits. John had the irritating habit of moving his stuff, especially his experiments. Sherlock smiled in John’s neck. He remembered the day when John found the head in the fridge. Oh the face he did! And the day he had scattered a whole skeleton in the living room to find the missing bone was memorable too. Sherlock slightly opened his eyes. He could finally put his strewn impressions. That smell was the smell of cherished memories.  
Sherlock was hypnotized. He took a deep breath and exhaled a warm blow in John’s neck, as a fainting dragon. He always wondered how John could keep his feelings hidden. He tried to hang out with women. Too much according to Sherlock. All sorts of women. As if John was trying to find what kind he liked most. This is how Sherlock found out his friend did not really like women. It was a very simple deduction, no need to be a detective to unveil this mystery.   
John held his friend so tight he noticed the hard pressure of Sherlock against him. No need to ask. He knew what it was and held Sherlock even closer to make him understand. That was a new thing for John. Of course he had guessed that Sherlock loved him, a long time ago, but he never had a strong proof of it. Sherlock never lowered his guard, never showed John his desire, never gave a clue nor said anything about his feelings. And now, with no physical obstacle between them, John thought Sherlock could not contain himself anymore. They both knew what was going to happen but did not really know how to do it, as if they did not want to make the first move. Sherlock slowly put his hand on John’s back while he bit his neck. Suddenly, his back hit the wall. John was electrified and he started to feel warm, a bit too warm to resist anymore. He put his hands on Sherlock’s face, pressing his jawline, and kissed every single part of it, starting with the bleeding nose. He kissed both his cheekbones, bit his ears and slightly licked them. He finally pressed his lips against Sherlock’s, their tongues mixed with the metallic taste of blood. “At last” Sherlock thought. It was an avid and passionate kiss, the kiss of two men who had restrained themselves for far too long. The world could fall apart. In a last act of rage, John bit Sherlock so hard that his lips started bleeding too.  
\- I’ll have to wash this and clean the wounds… John said.  
\- I believe you’re my doctor, Sherlock replied with a wink.


	4. Three fluids

John made Sherlock sit in the bathroom and opened a drawer to take compresses and disinfectant. When he turned around, Sherlock was half naked, his shirt covered by blood lying on the floor.  
\- You hit me a bit too hard, don’t you think?  
\- Well, I was a soldier once, you know. Two years, Sherlock. You let me grieve, for God’s sake!  
\- I had no choice. I had to make them believe and the only way was to make you believe. I spent the last two years looking for Moriarty’s nest. I found it and I destroyed it, burnt to the ground. No more danger for…us. The only reason I came back was you, John, my… best friend. And I hope for something more now.  
John could not help but smile and he started cleaning the blood. He gently washed Sherlock, who let him do what he had to do. Sherlock closed his eyes and simply enjoyed the contact of hot water on his skin and the touch of John’s soft hands. He surely knew how to take care of Sherlock. While being washed, Sherlock put his head against John’s body, grabbing his legs just above the knees and pulling up his hands until he reached his crotch.  
\- Well, that is certainly not going to h-help, John whispered, trying to catch his breath.  
Sherlock pressed it, made it roll under his fingers and bit it through the pants, making John moan. “Oh, I’m sorry” Sherlock said with a grim. He stood up so that John could clean up his chest. As a response to what Sherlock did, John bit his nipples, kissed his belly and finally took Sherlock’s pants off.  
\- You didn’t hit me there, John…  
\- Oh that’s not what I’m planning for you! I’d like to…  
But Sherlock did not let him finish his sentence. He made John sit, putting both his hands on his shoulders to be sure he would not move. He briefly caught the belt of a bathrobe and tied up John to the chair. He opened his shirt and made his suffer what he did to him before, licking and biting his chest, his nipples and his belly. He undressed John and put his head just in front of his crotch. John closed his eyes. But nothing came. He opened his eyes and watched Sherlock who was smiling, waiting.  
\- I hate you. You know it, right? John asked.  
\- Is that so?  
Sherlock sat on John’s knees and started to kiss him again and again, with more passion and desire each time. He could have done what John wanted but it was too easy and too quick. He deeply wanted to hear John begging for mercy. He stood up again and went to the fridge. He came back with an ice cube and John rolled his eyes when Sherlock put it on his chest, freezing his nipples. As an apology, he licked them while he put the ice on John’s sex, making him shiver from head to toes. He licked the top of his sex, watching John straight in the eyes, without a blink. He excited him as long as he could and after many minutes of torture for John, Sherlock took him fully in his mouth. John tried to contain himself; he could not do anything for feel this warm and soft contact on him. Sherlock stopped and untied John. It was the release of a beast. He pinned Sherlock on the ground and went furiously into him, moving in and out so fast that Sherlock had to cover up his moans. John was inside him and that was the only thing he could think about. John accelerated and was clinging on to Sherlock’s hips, nearly scratching them. In one last hip thrust, he came into him. Sherlock felt this long trickle of fluid while John contracted all his muscles. They fell on the floor. “I have to finish something…” John said, out of breath. He flanged himself on Sherlock’s cock and started to lick it with passion. He only had it inside his mouth for one minute when Sherlock came, soaking John’s mouth and chin. He swallowed every little drop until the last one and laid his head on Sherlock’s belly. They smiled and stayed like this a while before standing up and kissing each other. John went and ran a bath, where they rested, kissing and talking.  
\- You know what, Sherlock?  
\- Tell me.  
\- When I woke up, I was actually thirsty.  
\- I’ll be glad to help you any time you’re thirsty now, my love.


End file.
